Undone
by Inksplosion
Summary: Beside the funeral pyre on Endor, Leia wonders who Anakin Skywalker really was. Luke and Leia time travel AU
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars, its associated characters, environments, or technology.

[1]

The giant trees of Endor hide the vault of the sky and surround them with night. The flames on the funeral pyre die slowly and light still flickers among the deep shadows. Somewhere among the glowing ashes are the remains of what had once been a man instead of a mechanized monstrosity. Leia shivers as a breeze stirs the branches and brushes cold fingers against her cheek. Even though Luke returned from the _Death Star II_, living proof that there had been _something_ good there, she can not, will not, wrap her mind around the fact that she is standing here to acknowledge the passing of her _father_.

She'd wanted to come. But more than that, she wanted to reassure herself that Vader was dead and that he could not rise from the ashes to continue the Empire's ideology.

The revelation that Luke was her brother felt right and good, even if Luke had matured into someone she'd never have expected when she first met the wide-eyed, naïve, farmboy from Tatooine. She'd felt a connection with that boy. She'd been amazed at his emerging talents. She'd been charmed by his easy good humor and sensible suggestions that brought him to the forefront of the Rouge Squadron. She'd helped Luke find what little information remained about Anakin Skywalker and listened to the reminiscences of pilots who'd met the man.

Having Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight of the Old Republic, for a father would have been acceptable. But Anakin Skywalker had become Darth Vader, Sith Lord of the Galactic Empire.

When they entered the clearing together and she'd seen that the body on the pyre _was_ Vader she'd felt a thrill of amazement and relief. Leia had always imagined her father—her real father—to be a lot like Bail Organa. Someone strong and kind, someone who stood up for what was right. Someone who would wrap her in his arms after a nightmare and sing her to sleep when she was small. The stories of Anakin Skywalker suggested that man but she'd met Darth Vader too many times and the memory of his arms restraining her while the shot was fired on Alderaan still left her emotionally undone.

The bright embers and occasional flame illuminate only a shape now, and the shape could have belonged to anyone. She can no longer see it as her nemesis. She doesn't know what Luke sees. Perhaps he can see Anakin Skywalker as he could have been, but she can't imagine anything other than what he was.

Luke threads his fingers through hers as if he senses her distress, a reassuring touch that he is still there, still solidly himself despite his recent ordeal.

Tears cloud her vision. They are hot, burning the corners of her eyes as she fights them back. If she is going to cry, it will _not_ be to mourn the reality of her father. She is _glad_ he's gone! The tears distort and magnify the firelight. It flares suddenly and fills her field of sight. Too much, too bright! She squeezes her eyes shut against the blinding pain, moisture beading on her eyelashes and still reflecting the embers until she can't see anything else and she is being torn apart and remade—

—whirling through a kaleidoscopic field of light and dark and everything she'd ever regretted—the day she learned she was adopted—the times she'd sat on her bed with her arms crossed in defiance and told herself stories about her _real_ family; a father who would have taken her with him to work... who wouldn't have _had_ work too dangerous for a child to see—

She screams until her throat is raw, and Luke's answering cry tears at her soul. Whatever has happened to her has happened to him as well. They reach for each other, fingertips brushing, once, twice, as they struggle to remain together.

When Leia can see again, her eyes still weeping in protest against the bright lights, there are no trees or green leaves overhead and no leaf mold crunching softly underfoot. There are no planets whirling backwards in their rotation or stars exploding. She stands instead on a metal platform. Her knees tremble, threatening not to hold her weight, and she wonders if she blacked out and the buzz in her ears is only her brain trying to re-establish reality. Luke is at her side, equally unsteady, and they lean into each other for balance and the reassuring feel of flesh, solid and pulsing with life beneath the coarse fabric of their clothes. He's breathing hard, and her own comes in short bursts.

A short flight of steps leads from the platform to a catwalk running from right to left and intersecting with hallways at either end. There was nothing in the Imperial bunker like this hap-hazard construction of natural materials and mass-produced metals. She has studied the major and minor architecture styles as a way of putting her best foot forward on diplomatic missions and sees no visible clue to narrow down the builders or purpose; they are simply deep in the bowels of a humming machine. Above their heads the lights flicker in a power flux.

A blaster bolt whines by her head and she jumps for cover behind a wire as thick as her wrist. It isn't enough and Luke ignites his lightsaber with the curious _snap-hiss_ she's become accustomed to hearing, deflecting the barrage as they race along the catwalk to take momentary shelter in the shadow of a support beam. "I feel like we just left this party!" he jokes.

"Never a dull moment, eh, Skywalker?" she teases back.

"But who are they?" asks Luke. One of the bolts he returns toward their attackers hits something and a pile of parts falls in a shower of burnt metal on the catwalk behind them. "_What_ are they?" he corrects himself. The pieces seem to have once been a droid, slender and marionette-like and built to kill. More are visible now, urged on by a leader who stays just out of sight and line of fire.

The dim and uncertain lights give the whole encounter a surreal feel, as if she's stepped into an old record. Leia once had the opportunity to go through a series of badly archived images from the Clone Wars and their attackers could have stepped straight from those images. These were Trade Federation droids, in top condition even if they were antiques, and they had identified her and Luke as enemies.

Luke yanks the blaster from the downed droid, calling it to his hand. He shakes off the clutching fingers that had formed the grip of the droid, and hands the weapon to Leia. She cradles it, finding it the same vintage as the droids themselves, but it fires and her aim is far better than that of their adversaries.

Still, they are only two and they lose ground as droids continue to appear and fill the ranks. The catwalk intersects with a main hallway, and another troop of droids appears at the far end.

"Get the Jedi spies!"

If they try to fight now, they will be overwhelmed. So they run instead—right into the arms of three rolling droids that boast heavy firepower. The click of their weapons sounds like death in Leia's ears, but Luke powers down the lightsaber and holds out his hands, palm up. "We surrender," he says. "Take us to your masters."

It'd worked for him with Vader, and it worked now.


	2. Chapter 2

[2]

Their captors are Nemoidians, if Leia remembers that old record correctly, creatures with red bulbous eyes and a hideous taste in clothing. Timid and overbearing at the same time, they rely on the destroyer droids to keep the prisoners safely contained while they bicker over whose fault it is that 'Jedi spies' had penetrated so close to their hiding place.

Leia looks at her brother. He shrugs. At least they aren't being shot at for the moment. He has that look in his eye that says he is calculating how to take out the destroyer droids if that becomes necessary. His lightsaber lays on the table in front of the Nemoidians.

Fresh alarms blare in a cacophony of high pitched wails, and there is a cry of horror. "_Jedi!_"

Luke tries to step forward for a look at the cameras, but the destroyer droid is unrattled by the disturbance and raises its rifle. He freezes in place. They can only stand and listen as teams of droids are dispatched, and a barrage of firepower fills the speakers underneath the alarms. Neither can imagine how anyone could survive the onslaught.

"They're still coming!" announces a Nemoidian at the control console.

The siblings are seized by scaly alien arms that are very strong inside the swathes of velvet, and pinned in front of the Nemoidian leaders, blasters held to the side of their heads. With droids before and behind, scanning for the first sign that Jedi have burst through their defense, they are hustled along an escape corridor. It is long and dim and the only sound is the nervous breathing of the Nemoidians and the clank metal on metal from the footfalls of the droids.

There is full daylight when they reach a cargo bay. A ship waits at the far end, engines purring. A murmur among the Nemoidians suggests relief now that the goal and safety are within reach. They have crossed half the intervening space when a box falling from the rafters shatters the advance guard. Metal shards fly everywhere and Leia turns her face away, closing her eyes and pushing her cheek against the velvet in an attempt to avoid the shrapnel.

"Halt! You are under arrest, by order of the Supreme Chancellor." If a voice can be decadent, this one is—it's like sweet amber honey—but has a distinct ring of righteous authority, and Leia thrills to hear it. She doesn't miss the reference to the Supreme Chancellor, a seat that the Emperor co-opted and twisted to his own ends. But the title is also music to her—a reference to the times of democracy she's craved and fought to restore.

There's another voice, softer, not meant for their ears—at least, Leia doesn't think it's meant for them. "Like _that's_ ever worked."

But the party stops and turns. The Jedi stand on a balcony overlooking them, lightsabers in hand. They must have fought hard to win the vantage point, but they seem as if they've always stood there, waiting for the Nemoidans to escape this way.

"No closer!" warns the lead Nemoidian. His headdress is more elaborate than the others, and his fingers twitch nervously on the trigger to the blaster he holds to Luke's temple. "Or your friends leave us without saying farewell."

There's a puzzled look on the taller Jedi's face. "Hostages?" he asks his companion. "This complicates things."

"A delightful understatement."

She can feel the moment the Nemoidan's attention on her wavers. Her decision is a split second action and she hopes Luke senses what she's about to do. Under the Empire, peacefulness had never equaled helplessness and she's had years of self-defense and weaponless combat classes. Leia shrinks in on herself and slides down through the grip around her shoulders. The blaster fires into the Nemoidan next to her. It's chaos, and the Jedi take advantage of it. The battle passes around her, and she leaps to her feet, seizing a blaster from the floor as she does so. She aims at the rearguard, watching them fly apart with every well-aimed blaster bolt and relieved to see Luke on the offensive as well.

"Are you all right?" It's the tall Jedi. He's stopped for her.

She gapes at him, noticing that he's good-looking and wears a black glove on one hand. "Shouldn't you be taking them into custody?"

He shrugs. "Obi-Wan only wants me along for moral support and comic relief. He can handle things. From the looks of things, you were about to rescue yourself anyway but I thought I'd ask."

Leia smiles. He's so nice! Manners like that went out of style years ago, though some Moffs and Grand Moffs like to pretend they have them. She doesn't know how she ended up in this situation, or why Old Republic Jedi are running down Clone War-era criminals, but it's a pleasure to meet him. Luke will be thrilled and the Rebellion could use these men. "I'm fine," she says and since he's not a scruffy adventurer or mercenary con-man, she adds, "...Thank you."

He grins, and it's delightfully boyish, reminding her of Luke—only she doesn't think this man has ever been abashed in all his life. "You're welcome, milady."

The Nemoidians struggle to break through the battle line and reach their ship. Luke is working with the other Jedi to stop them. Two lightsabers shimmer in the crossfire and droids go down in a constant clatter. Her companion looks up to the ceiling, and she follows his gaze, half noticing as he raises one hand. There are more crates and boxes stored in the rafters. As she watches, the ones over the Nemoidians begin to rock and teeter on the edge.

He calls a warning. "Stand away, boy!"

Luke leaps at the last second, avoiding the falling container that smashes over the alien heads and knocks them out. There are a few more droids to dispatch in a shower of metal parts, and then silence falls in the hanger.

The comlink at the Jedi's belt chimes, and there's a voice on the other end. "Commander?"

"We've got them. Come in and make our prisoners secure."

"Aye, aye, sir!"

The first Jedi powers down his lightsaber and hangs it at his belt with a single habitual gesture. He pats Luke's shoulder as they join Leia and the Jedi Commander. "Nice work."

Leia gasps in surprise when white armored soldiers enter the hanger. She tenses, raising the blaster to fight again, but the Jedi Commander puts a hand on the barrel and gently pushes it back down. "Those are Republic forces, not Separatist scum-droids. No need to worry."

There are blaster burns on the leaders, but the plate and helmet style is antiquated, Clone Wars era. But what are they doing working _with _the Jedi?

"I wasn't worried," she snaps.

He chuckles.

"So who are you, and what are you doing here?" asks the first Jedi. The other one—_her _Jedi—had mentioned his name... what had he said? It had a familiar sound... started with...

"I'm Luke Lars," says Luke. "This is my sister, Leia. We're from Endor."

"I'm afraid I've never heard of it," the Jedi apologizes.

"That's okay, I'm not sure where we are now."

"How did the Lars-from-Endor get here?" asks the Jedi Commander.

Luke's explanation of a pirated shipment sounds weak to Leia. The Jedi are obviously skeptical, and the second one shakes his head.

Luke flushes. Leia pulls herself to her full height. "I'm the daughter of Senator Bail Organa—" That's as far as she gets before her Jedi raises an eyebrow.

"He'd have to have started very young—"

"Anakin!" reproves the other. "Don't be crude."

"Sorry." He doesn't sound particularly sorry. "I was just pointing out that as a cover story that one's even worse than the previous one. A bit of research would provide dozens of more likely candidates for familial relationships."

Her mind is reeling. The first Jedi—his name was Obi-Wan. And this was... Anakin. They are surrounded by relics of the Clone Wars. This shouldn't be happening. She's dreaming. How else could she be standing here trying to explain to General Kenobi and her birth father... _what_ was she going to say again?

"Lei-_ah_." Luke stresses the last syllable of her name. He's the picture of an exasperated sibling. "Uncle Owen said to tell the truth." He shrugs a little and lies by omission instead. "She's been a Princess as long as I can remember. Alderaan is her favorite world and Endor is a bit cut off from things..."

"Princess Leia, huh?" Anakin seems amused now.

She glares. That is her name, and her title, and she doesn't care if it doesn't fit the yarn Luke is trying to spin. Even Vader had accorded her a _little_ respect due to her position!

"Why don't you take your Uncle Owen's advice and tell us the truth, Luke," suggests Obi-Wan. "I don't sense that you mean us any harm, and unless you were engaged in something illegal—"

"We weren't," says Luke, very earnestly. "But the truth is—I don't _know_. The last thing I remember for certain was Endor-then it's as unclear as a fever dream-and now we're here trying to explain. I thought that some story would be better than nothing..."

"The truth may be less credible," says Anakin. "But it is more believable, Luke Lars."


	3. Chapter 3

[3]

The Jedi invite them on-board their ship-a Republic cruiser-while the troopers escort the recovering Nemoidians to a cell on the lower deck for transport back to Coruscant. The seats in the lounge are comfortable, and Leia sinks into one with a sigh of relief. She'd barely recovered from the adrenaline high of taking out the energy bunker on Endor and the impromptu celebration before being thrown into the middle of another firefight. She's going into shock, she thinks. It's a more reasonable explanation than actually being thrown back in time. Commander Skywalker drapes a blanket over her shoulders and offers her a mug of hot broth. She accepts it automatically, but she can't meet his eyes.

He's supposed to be Darth Vader and terrifying. But he's... like Luke. Younger, even, because he's more like the Luke who piloted his way into history with a single amazing shot, who led the Rouge Squadron through skirmishes and major battles, and who could brighten her day with a smile. Not that she doesn't love and appreciate the steady and solemn young Jedi who'd led the final effort to rescue Han Solo and who had faced down Vader and the Emperor. But she misses the carefree laughter he'd spread before being weighed down with responsibility.

She doesn't want Anakin's niceness to be an act. She doesn't want to think about what he'll become—or maybe already is. Force help her, she doesn't want to _like_ him.

"Have I offended you, Princess?"

Leia clutches the cup tightly, hoping it doesn't crack under the pressure. Anakin isn't teasing. He seems honestly concerned about her. "No—yes—please, I just need to be alone for a while." Tears burn at the corners of her eyes. Well, she can use them. The Jedi backs away, and peeking out from under her lashes she sees he's frowning. "Wait—are you _really_ Anakin Skywalker?"

"I sure am," he says. "Why? Does it make a difference?"

"I wish you'd been anyone else!"

His blue eyes go wide and Luke has to try and salvage what he can though this improvisation hangs better than the previous one. "She didn't believe you were real. She's thought that all the stories are... exaggerations."

"And the photos? The holo-vid interviews?"

"An actor," says Luke.

Anakin laughs, though he tries to stop when they don't join in. "Can't you just take me as I am?"

There are other duties for the Jedi to attend to and they step out, leaving behind an admonition to relax and stay put. There is welcome silence and space in their wake. The chair next to Leia shifts as Luke sits down next to her. Warmth from the cup seeps through her hands and she finally trusts her voice to ask the question without trembling. "Luke—what's happened to us?"

"Pirates?" he offers. When she doesn't reply, he adds, "I don't know. Maybe we're hallucinating. But this—this feels real. Aunt Beru always said not to look a gift bantha in the mouth."

"Why? Because their breath stinks?"

"Because it cheapens the gift."

* * *

They will be returning to Coruscant with the Jedi. Anakin offers them the use of a data pad after it comes up that the twins aren't even clear on what day it is. Leia accepts gratefully and curls up on her seat. The blanket slips off her shoulders as she begins to sort through the news. Luke, still at her side, asks her to point out the date, which she does, and he thoughtfully counts on his fingers before swallowing a disappointment. "Now who's looking the gift bantha in the mouth?" she whispers even as she wonders who else he'd hoped to meet in the past.

"What is _that_?" he retorts, his own voice soft, as she opens a page on a high fashion show. The first image is of something that looks like a neon wookie pelt worn as outerwear and she scrolls past, refusing to dignify the question with an answer. Some things defy explanation.

"Well?" Anakin asks. There's been a decent interval of time and from the way the siblings are bumping shoulders and hiding smiles they have progressed beyond serious news items.

"We lost more than a week," Leia informs him. That's about the time it would take a freighter to cover the distance between Endor and this sector of the galaxy. She's decided to take a professional tone and make the best of a bad situation. Anakin Skywalker will just be another in a long line of diplomatically handled contacts she's made in her career.

"I'm sorry," he says. "You should let your family know you're all right—I can patch you through to Endor—"

"That won't be necessary," says Luke. "There's no one to inform."

Han will be frantic with worry when he discovers they are missing, but Leia can't think of any way to get a message back to him. They are lightyears beyond the intended range of the comlink she wore as part of the rebel strike team. She'd checked it while the Jedi were out of the room, and it was cold and dead in her hand even though she knew it'd been fully functional when she left the ewok camp.

Obi-Wan, nursing his own mug of warmed broth, leans forward slightly to to address Luke. "May I see your lightsaber?"

It isn't surprising the Jedi are curious about a pair of self-proclaimed hick kids (Leia's ewok provided outfit does nothing to dispel that image) with mysterious origins and a lightsaber. Luke hands it over, drawing the weapon from his belt with a small smile. He'd made it himself, Leia remembers, and now her brother is about to get a professional opinion.

Her brother. She hugs the thought close. After losing Alderaan and her family, it was Luke and Han and Chewie who tried to fill the gap. They were clumsy and awkward about it-and she suspects the smuggler's motivations were not altruistic at first-but they were persistent and eventually she'd allowed them to trickle into their places in her heart. But there is something binding them together beyond choice now. Luke really is her family-and so, it would seem, is the man across the room.

Anakin is sprawled on a seat, its proximity chosen in an attempt to make her feel comfortable by giving her space. He doesn't exactly look comfortable, but he looks at ease: eyes closed and head tipped back. Obi-Wan had tried scolding him, reminding him that they had guests, but the younger Jedi had a twinkle in his eye when he announced that this was who he was and their guests would just have to get used to it. And Leia had had to hide a smile.

Obi-Wan sets aside his mug to turn the weapon over in his hands, and a frown furrows his brow. "Anakin—come look at this." Anakin rises with a careless grace (Leia can't help but contrast his movements with the precision and looming presence of the dark lord—what had happened? Are both identities an act?) and leans over Obi-wan's shoulder. Fingers point to pieces on the lightsaber, and the older Jedi twists a bit in his seat to see Anakin's expression.

"They're hand-milled," Anakin says. "Very nice. I can't say I recognize the style."

"No," says the older Jedi. "I can't either. I had assumed the weapon was second hand..." he trails off and shakes his head. Leia's research into the current political situation has already informed her that many Jedi have died in the Clone Wars and their lightsabers are considered trophies of war.

Anakin takes the lightsaber from Obi-Wan and balances it on his palm. He looks over to Luke. "The grip is a bit small for my taste, but it must suit your hand perfectly."

"Yes." Luke confirms the statement. He doesn't volunteer any more information, preferring to see what conclusions the Jedi draw from the evidence.

"Why did you build a lightsaber?" asks Obi-Wan.

"It was a challenge."

Leia thinks that's something of an understatement. After losing his lightsaber in Cloud City—to Vader (she wonders if it was the same one Anakin wears now)—Luke had needed to do something to occupy his thoughts and focus his understanding of what it meant to be a Jedi. He'd succeeded admirably. Obi-Wan and Anakin are clearly impressed by the weapon Luke carries.

The Jedi exchange a long look, communicating something Leia can't read, before Obi-Wan returns the lightsaber. "Well done," the master tells her brother.

* * *

Leia returns Anakin's data pad with thanks and polite smile before the Lars twins retire, pleading fatigue and a sleep schedule that needs to be aligned to Coruscant time. The ship is quiet, the engines purring underfoot as they propel the cruiser through hyperspace. It's familiar and comforting as Anakin and Obi-Wan sit across from each other in the lounge, steaming mugs of coffee close at hand. They're writing their reports—or, in Anakin's case, pretending they are writing reports. He's pretty sure Obi-Wan has already finished his and is staying up to keep Anakin on task, but that's Obi-Wan for you: tidy and methodical in all things. Anakin is far more interested in what Leia looked up on his data pad that she thought she needed to hide—it's taken a great deal of time to find the first few clues that there was actually something else there in the first place among a trail that meanders from major news feeds to fashion collections and buy-it-now shopping suggestions.

"What do you think of the Lars twins?" he asks. If they're going to think about them, they might as well discuss their impressions.

"From what I've seen, I would have said the boy is a Jedi—his control is excellent. But I don't recognize him and we didn't have anyone near Endor. And the lightsaber..." Obi-Wan shakes his head. "It's…"

"Professional grade work with crude tools," supplies Anakin.

"Yes. The girl strikes me as a seasoned politician—certainly not someone who would be caught out with only a story like the ones they tried to tell us. The Nemoidians tried to use them as hostages, which says something. They can't agree on how they ended up in the situation—and yet they still have a ring of truth even in the clumsiest of evasions!" Obi-Wan looks at his former pupil. "What are you doing?"

He thought his former master would never ask. "Retracing her searches when she borrowed my data pad. On the surface it looks like she was hoping to acquire a wardrobe to rival Senator Nabarie's."

"But?"

"The Senate seating arrangements. A political headline newsfeed. Articles about the war. It's very thorough. She used professional sources—and she didn't want us to know. She's good at hiding her tracks." He grins. "I'm just better at finding them."

"Anything useful?"

Anakin sighs. Despite his cleverness, it isn't anything they hadn't already guessed. "Not yet."


	4. Chapter 4

_AN: To everyone who has read, followed, favorited, and/or reviewed so far-y'all make my day. Thank you!_

[4]

Coruscant fills the forward viewport. Both twins have taken seats behind the pilot as he brings the ship in. Luke's eyes are fixed on the planet before them, taking it in for the first time. It's a magnificent sight. It takes Leia's breath away how little has changed. Coruscant is still a gleaming metallic sphere and there are tinted shields on the viewports to protect their eyes from the reflected light. The traffic is almost incalculable. She can see Luke's fingers twitching. He'd love to take the controls and navigate his way in response to the commands from port control.

"You're a pilot?"

She hadn't heard Anakin come up. Luke nods in response. "Is it always like this?"

"Some days it's worse," says Anakin, perpetuating the jokes about Coruscant traffic on yet another dazzled newcomer.

"Three minutes to dock, Commander," says the pilot. Anakin doesn't thank him, just nods and retreats. He seems satisfied that the twins are occupied. Leia tries to match landmarks. She recognizes the Senate building, and the lonely spire on the horizon must be the Jedi Temple. In her day, it had been a charred hole in the ground. She shivers. It's a lovely sight now: she can't imagine Anakin hating something that much...

Below their flight pattern a distinctive red craft slides out of traffic to settle on the platform designated as their landing spot. The shuttle eases down with ponderous grace, deftly handled by the best pilot for hire. "Is that the Chancellor's shuttle?" she asks.

"Yes, milady." The crew is invariably respectful toward the twins as honored guests of the Jedi. "He is personally interested in the success of our mission."

Beside her, Luke stiffens, and Leia feels her own muscles clench. Fear roils in her belly and she clamps down on it, trying to stay calm and think things through. The Jedi have politely declined to pry further into their cover story. But they can't face Palpatine. They will stand out among the soldiers and crew, even in borrowed flightsuits. They can't count on being allowed to stand quietly in the background—the chancellor will be curious about the two members in the party that are unaccounted for officially. And Leia isn't sure she can present the necessary facade of awe at being the center of attention. She isn't even sure she can muster bland civility. But it won't do anyone any good if she loses control and shrieks that the man is a murderer and a Sith and _evil_.

She meets Luke's eyes. There are raw scars on his torso and arms from his duel with the Emperor, the pain fresh and sharp and hidden lest it spark questions they have no way to answer. Her brother knows—better than anyone, perhaps—what would be at stake in the meeting and, Force help them, he's gritting his teeth to try and go through with it.

Leia thinks it's too much to ask of anyone. She won't allow Palpatine near her brother, not now and maybe not ever. The ship sets down gently and the pilot begins the control check prior to shutting down the systems unnecessary for interplanetary flight. The crew eddies around them with last minute duties. Leia rises to her feet, every inch a senator of the republic. She lays a hand lightly on Luke's arm, as if he is the one escorting her and not the other way around. "Stay close to me."

Obi-Wan nods distractedly as Luke and Leia join him by the main hatch. They haven't spoken about what will happen once they land, but it is assumed that the Jedi are responsible for the siblings and they'd been willing to accept that.

Anakin tugs at his robes, making sure they hang straight and he will present the image of a serene Jedi to the galaxy. Leia picks up some of his nervousness, her fingers wanting to wrinkle the soft hides that form her skirt into a ball in her hand but she broke the habit of fidgeting long ago. Instead, she swallows as the hatch opens and lets in fresh air that is a cool breeze tainted with the metallic tang of the city. It is a welcome change after the bland recycled air of the ship, and achingly familiar to Leia. It's not home—it's not Alderaan—but she's spent almost a third of her life here on Coruscant.

Both Jedi are confident that the Lars siblings will follow as they step down the ramp to meet Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, who can be seen among his guards and aids beside the red shuttle. But Leia hangs back, and Luke keeps in step with his sister. Armored troopers escorting the Nemoidian prisoners pass them. Both Anakin and Obi-Wan have assured them that their kidnappers will remain safe in jail while awaiting the verdict of the Senate and the courts.

"They don't need us," says Leia, her voice soft in the empty entranceway. "Let's go."

Luke gives her a funny smile, as if to say he's not so sure about that, but he helps her with the hatch on the far side of the ship where none in the official party will notice as they leave the platform and quickly lose themselves in the bustle of the planet that never sleeps.

* * *

Anakin strides down the ramp, tall and straight and confident. The Supreme Chancellor appreciates his efforts, and today they bring him a crucial piece in the Separatist puzzle. Palpatine beams, his smile warm as the Coruscant sunshine. He takes the hand of each Jedi in turn. "I was shocked when I received your initial report. We've been dreaming of this moment for so long it had begun to seem impossible. But, of course, if anyone was going bring them back to face justice, it would be you."

Obi-Wan and Anakin bow from the shoulders, accepting the praise.

Behind them, the Nemoidians shuffle and protest their treatment. They cannot bear to lose and have their cause treated as it deserves. Even here, at the heart of the Republic, if their complaints were to reach the wrong ears they could present a sympathetic face to the populace jaded by constant fighting.

Palpatine tucks his hands inside the heavily brocaded sleeves of his robes, a shadow crossing his face in response to the insults hurled by the prisoners.

Anakin's fists clench. He doesn't mind for himself. He and Obi-Wan have heard worse, and such petty irritations can be released into the Force. They're only words. But for the chancellor's sake he wishes there were a few more boxes handy to drop on the Nemoidians' thick skulls.

"I must ask for your discretion," says Palpatine. "There are arrangements that must be made before the public is made aware of this development and this case is brought to the courts."

"The Jedi Temple is secure," says Obi-Wan. They've done this before, though never with such high-profile political prisoners.

"You cannot do this to us!" cries the head Nemoidian, his bulbous eyes wider than usual at the thought of being surrounded by Jedi. He is strident, insistent that the group acknowledge him.

Palpatine is stern. His voice is icy cold. A shadow falls over the platform. "You sought to tear the Republic apart. You have killed hundreds of innocents and brought suffering to the galaxy. The hospitality of the Jedi is more than you deserve."

"You cannot prove anything!" blusters the Nemoidian.

Anakin, about to make a cutting remark, realizes the group is short two members. The Lars twins are not on the platform, and probably never had been. He cannot sense their presence on the ship. Obi-Wan confirms the observation and they share a moment of brief frustration. The Lars were witness to the internal workings of the Separatist evacuation and can swear to plans and orders given by the Nemoidians. But it would be pointless to mention them now. Instead, he snaps out a command for silence, calling on the terror and respect his actions have instilled in the prisoners. "You are in no position to make threats."

They say farewell to Palpatine. The clone troopers march the prisoners away to a covered transport. The Jedi stand alone on the platform, a breeze stirring the folds of their cloaks.

Obi-Wan looks at Anakin. "Why can't it ever be simple?"

They search the ship for the sake of completeness and it is utterly empty. One of the crew remembers seeing the twins exit via the crew door.

"They could at least have waited to say goodbye," Anakin grumbles. He frowns, thinking of the dangers Coruscant holds for the unwary. They'd never inquired, but it'd seemed likely that Luke and Leia had only the clothes on their backs. In the company of Jedi, that wouldn't have mattered.

"If they had, we couldn't have let them go. I suppose they knew that."

"Suspicious," says the younger Jedi. He sighs with disappointment. As long as the Lars twins were innocent bystanders dragged into the conflict they could keep their secrets. But they fled the situation at the first opportunity, suggesting they have more to hide than awkward family relationships. "You'll have to go after them, Master."

"Why me?" asks Obi-Wan, sounding genuinely curious. It's not like Anakin to give up a chance to prowl around Coruscant unsupervised.

"You're Leia's favorite. If I go after her, she'll never be convinced I'm a decent fellow."


	5. Chapter 5

[5]

Leia can't resist a little skip as they enter the Legislative District. Unhindered by expectations and explanations, free of solicitous glances from the Jedi, she's just another tourist in the heart of the galaxy—albeit one uniquely qualified to appreciate what she sees. She breathes in the atmosphere with a rush of nostalgia and delight.

Her moment of inattention to her surroundings is almost her undoing. Luke pulls her back to safety as the wake of an air taxi leaves her offbalance and in danger of becoming a pedestrian statistic. Coruscant is not designed for foot traffic. Vehicles zip about, depositing visitors at rendezvous in offices and cafes. More careful now, Leia points out figures and places she's only heard about, as well as younger versions of those she knew well, giving Luke a running commentary as they navigate the walkways toward the convex silhouette of the building that houses the Senate. Tourists and senate staff alike move about in a complex dance as the affairs of the galaxy are discussed and arranged.

Those on official business look as tense as she remembers from her days in the Imperial Senate. Instead of the smothering influence of the Emperor it is individual egos that gumming up the works as conversations grind on without conclusion. But it is a bureaucratic democracy and she'd never had the opportunity to see it in action.

Inside, voices are lowered to a hushed whisper. Leia pauses in the shadow of enormous red pillars to look out over the skyline and realizes that she hasn't really stopped talking since they left the landing platform. Luke is still at her side, but his blue eyes are thoughtful and faraway. She feels a pang of regret—her brother was not raised as a Senate brat and might not find this as interesting as she. For her, this moment reminds her of what she's fighting for, whether it be to change an inexplicable past or only a dream of what might have been.

"Could we go inside?" asks Luke, meaning the Senate itself and not just its public environs, and Leia feels the thrill of thinking on parallel lines. He's as committed to the cause as she.

She'd brought them in one of the doors primarily used by those with business in the senate chambers. The public viewing area is not accessible from this level. They take a plain back stairway to the main lobby, with its art installations and information placards and banners with Republic insignia displayed from a high ceiling. Tourists are corralled here by senate guides; Leia pulls Luke between two different groups to access the bank of elevators that will take them to the top floor.

The guide in their elevator informs them of how fast they are going and how many floors they bypass as they take the nonstop ride up the interior curve of the roof. Heavy doors embossed with examples of the finest art from a thousand worlds slide open to allow access to the public gallery.

It takes ones breath away to look down at the pods for the diplomatic delegations that line the wall. As if the displays of history and grandeur outside were not enough, row upon row of seats give silent witness to the enormity of the galaxy. Deep in the center well is the pod for the Supreme Chancellor. He's not seated at the moment, leaving one of his undersecretaries to moderate the discussion, and many of the other pods are empty as well. The tour group looks around and then files out again while Luke and Leia choose seats away from the door.

Leia picks up the datapad that instructs visitors on what is currently happening. It's a discussion about a small trade route that primarily concerns only a couple of planets. She's more interested in accessing the senate archives and adding to her knowledge of current events. She's lost track of time when Luke leans over her shoulder.

"Ah," he says. "I didn't think you found the discussion or the trivia so fascinating. How did you do that?"

She has to stop and think. It'd been second nature to use one of the Alderaanian passcodes known to most junior adjutants. It was rarely updated—not a secure set-up, but she'd never heard of it being exploited—and now she knows _how _rarely, _and_ she just exploited it.

Luke grins at her expression. "Never mind."

"I've been gathering information on possible allies to unseat Palpatine," she tells him, shifting in her seat to avoid security cameras and lip-readers.

"That can be done?"

"It's not an Empire yet," Leia says. If she has her way, it never will. "There are plenty of systems opposed to the war. With the capture of the Nemoidians, a push for peace will gain momentum—and he won't be able to maneuver himself into a more permanent position."

"What about the Jedi?" asks Luke.

She's puzzled. "They're guardians of peace and justice, not politicians."

"But the Sith are in opposition to the Jedi. This—" He gestures to their surroundings. "It's a game. A means to an end."

Leia shrugs. "One we'll use to our advantage." She shoves aside niggling concerns that clamor for a hearing. She knows stopping Palpatine won't be easy. But if she gives them full voice, they will spoil the moment with regrets and cloud her thinking with what-ifs.

"You're running away," says Luke, voicing the worst of her fears. He's apologetic, but firm.

Is she? She prefers to think of it as taking action. Perhaps as avoiding an unpleasant and potentially dangerous confrontation. "You didn't want to be there either."

"I'm happy to have not drawn Palpatine's attention, yes. But that's not what I meant."

She knows it's not. She clenches her hands into fists, her nails digging into the palm of her hands. The small pain echoes the greater pain in her heart when she thinks of years of a black gloved fist closing tighter around the free systems—of Alderaan—of Luke—of Han—of their unknown mother.

"You should give him a chance, Leia." Luke's eyes are blue and guileless, his expression somber.

"Why?" she demands. "So he can break my heart too? I know how this story ends!" She clamps down on the surge of temper. She will not shout, not here, not at her brother. She is a senator and a diplomat. She listens to and considers opposing points of view—even when they are wrong.

"But that hasn't happened yet. You're condemning him without a hearing or fair trial. That's not like you."

Luke had believed there was still something good, something worth saving, in Vader. Vader's last words had been for her, telling her that Luke was, against all odds, right. She shoves aside the thought that it had been an attempt to apologize. Sith didn't apologize. An apology wasn't enough to make things right between them.

Even here and now, she's not sure there is enough good in Anakin Skywalker to keep Darth Vader from putting a choke-hold on the galaxy. The Jedi are charming but she can't read them. Anakin _seems_ open and friendly—but she's certain there are depths she hasn't glimpsed. What influence would she have either way? She is nothing to him now.

Luke accepts her sigh and doesn't push the argument further. "Speaking of running away, did you pack a pillowcase of food?"

"No," Leia admits. "Not even a ration bar in my pocket." Going back to the Jedi—to Anakin, with his bemused smile and piercing gaze—is the last thing Leia wants to do. She and Luke are agents for the Rebellion. They've survived in enemy territory before and they can do it again. They'll just need to make a few contacts and she has some ideas about how to accomplish that.


	6. Chapter 6

[6]

The door closes in Leia's face with a soft _snick,_ leaving her standing in the over-decorated antechamber. Another senator has rejected her carefully argued proposition. Leia straightens her spine and keeps her head high as she marches past the secretary who has politely averted his eyes in order not to embarrass her further. It won't help. The burn of her chagrin flows across her cheekbones and warms her to the tips of her toes. She'd never appreciated how much her position as Princess of Alderaan had smoothed the way in difficult situations—oh, she'd known that she had power and prestige, but she'd thought the greater sum was due to her own personality and actions.

Luke waits outside, futile visits to ten other offices this morning alone having convinced him to study the classified ads instead. He pockets the flimsy sheet and doesn't comment, simply falls in step beside her. She slows her brisk pace.

"They want—resumes. Proof that I've done something," she says. Apparently it isn't enough to be willing to start at the bottom of the ladder—one must begin far below the bottom rung. Leia is tempted to look into channeling her energies into some other project—let the galaxy come to her when Palpatine seizes power—but she's always been stubborn. That was what had saved her from blurting out everything she knew to Vader. She'll claw her way into the ranks of the Senate yet.

They've been at this for days, spending their nights at a shelter run by a religious group marked by their vows of silence. The bed and meal are free provided one abides by the tenants of the order while under their roof. Neither accommodations nor food are high-quality, but it is a clean, orderly and decent place. The ecclesiastics looked askance at Luke in the beginning, but had accepted him as harmless.

"I still think we have other options," says Luke.

"Han told me you'd make a terrible gambler." Chewie's opinion, as relayed by Threepio, was that Luke was better than Han, but only because the wookie didn't have to worry about 'the Kid' gambling with the ship when things weren't going well. Knowing when to quit did not equal turning one credit into two, and two into four, and four into enough for clothes to leave a positive impression on any senator and his staff—and credentials that will stand up to more than cursory scrutiny. Not that they have one credit. They don't have anything to pawn except the clothes on their backs and a non-functioning comlink of a make that won't exist for another twelve years or so.

"I've seen you play," her brother tells her. "It doesn't have to be me."

She's flattered enough to let her smile soften into something real.

"Pardon me," says someone. "I believe you dropped this?"

Leia turns to meet the gaze of what could be the wedding portrait of Bail Organa, come to life and stepping from the frame in the entry hall on Alderaan and roaming the streets of Coruscant. The Senator is sleek and polished and, most importantly, _alive_. She's simultaneously delighted and confused and a tiny bit indignant. If he is offering the credit chip because he believes them to be destitute—

"No," says Luke. "That's not ours. We'll be happy to assist you in finding the owner." He's already searching the crowd, seeking signs of distress.

"Don't trouble yourself," says Bail. "I suppose the owner must be long gone by now." He places the credit chip in a pocket with the easy assurance of ownership and presses on to the real reason he initiated the conversation. "I've seen you around the Senate quite a lot these last few days—are you with a delegation?"

"No," says Leia. "I'd like to be, but no one is willing to take a chance on green assistants."

"Ah." Bail studies them for a long moment while passersby swirl and eddy about them in a current of color and texture. He makes a decision. "I was about to meet friends for lunch. Why don't you join me, and we can become better acquainted?"

Leia smiles like it's the most thrilling idea she's ever heard. "That would be wonderful, thank you."

The senator hails and directs an air taxi to an address Leia vaguely remembers as a favorite spot for casual dining while the Senate is in session. Conversation focuses on the Endor colony from which the 'Lars' are supposed to hail (which is a rapidly invented mixture of the moisture farm Luke grew up on and one of the more permanent Rebel bases).

At their destination, a uniformed waiter escorts them out to the spacious patio area with its tastefully positioned sculptures and wide view of the upper reaches of the Senate district. Bail's friends are already waiting for him at a table set with white linen and heavy crystal. They have drinks and a plate of half-finished appetizers to indicate that they did not just arrive. Leia recognizes several in the party—half a dozen of some of the finest minds in the Senate at the current time—and isn't surprised that the group already includes members of the pre-Rebellion. Bail gives a quick apology for his tardiness and then makes introductions all around. Chairs are rearranged with a scrape of metal on tile to accommodate the unexpected guests, and Leia finds herself across from a dark-haired woman with decided opinions. Padmé Amidala is gracious to Bail's guests, extending one small manicured hand to each in turn with genuine warmth and interest. Leia's heart does flip-flops with giddy excitement, and she is astonished at how tongue-tied she feels.

Only two days ago, she would have taken her seat here for granted; considering it her due. Now she is aware of how fragile influence can be, and how difficult it is to build from nothing. She will _not_ blow her chance to impress both the man who had been her father and the legendary senator from Naboo who had helped shape the infant Rebellion before her untimely death. And she certainly will _not_ begin conversation with Senator Amidala by saying, "I've always admired your work..."

The discussion covers a range of topics, the participants keeping the tone light for the benefit of their guests. Leia relaxes—just a little—as she is able to contribute intelligently. The possibility that this meal will end with polite words and no further contact overshadows her enjoyment.

"Why, General Kenobi!" someone at the far end of the table exclaims. "We thought you'd forgotten about us."

Obi-Wan laughs off the comment—"No, never! But it's difficult to find time even for friends these days"—and Luke smiles, unabashedly pleased, as the Jedi takes a seat next to him. Leia prepares a defense as grey eyes seek hers. Obi-Wan's question is direct, a hint of durasteel in the honeyed overtones leaving little doubt in her mind that he is feeling proprietary about them. "Why didn't you tell me you had friends here?"

Leia can feel a subtle warming around the table as if the Jedi's acknowledgment is enough to create trust. "Because we didn't at the time," she says. "And even if we had, I don't care to presume on my friends. I want to succeed because of who I am and not because of who I know."

There is no further public rebuke, but Leia is certain there is no chance of slipping away unobserved a second time. They will have to face the consequences of their actions—her actions, if she is honest with herself. Leia hides a wry grimace and applies herself to enjoying the rest of the meal. She ought to have known the opportunity was too good to be true.

The group breaks up, Padmé Amidala lingering until the end when only the twins, Obi-Wan, and Bail Organa remain at the table. "I would be interested in taking Leia on as an assistant," she says, giving the young woman a warm smile. "I think we would get on very well together."

"And I could find a spot for Luke in my security team," says Bail.

Obi-Wan sits back, his fingertips barely touching as he considers the proposition and Leia holds her breath. Are they to be parceled out like prized goods? Padmé raises her eyebrows in surprise. "What are you not telling us, General?"

"They are important witnesses in an upcoming court case. Anakin and I are supposed to be keeping them safe—a difficult task given the Lars'...disregard...for the dangers posed to their personal safety by wandering Coruscant on their own." It's a kinder summary than Leia expected, since the Jedi must have been searching the city for signs of them ever since they parted company.

Padmé's smile holds private amusement, as if she and the Jedi are sharing a joke. "I'm sure I can find something for both of them, then. I understand the need to be doing something instead of enduring endless waiting."

Luke might be disappointed, but Leia feels hope leap in her breast. She looks to Obi-Wan, trying to convey how _ardently_ she would rather this turn of events. They might have joked about a childhood fascination with all things Alderaan on the ship, but the opportunity to work with her heroine and role model is a dream come true.

"I would need to be certain of finding you again," Obi-Wan addresses himself to Leia. At this point, she is willing to agree to anything, and she nods eagerly. "If anything happens, you will be returned to the Jedi Temple for your own safety."

"I understand," says Leia.


	7. Chapter 7

[7]

Leia buries her face in the soft silk of the dress, breathing in the faint scent of flowers caught in the folds before she dons the gown. She likes everything about this arrangement—especially the fact that there are now choices in her wardrobe. Padmé had looked at their lack of luggage and decided that an upgrade was required. This gown is not the white drapery Leia favored as a Senator, but it is luxurious and generously cut. The myraid jewel tones woven into the fabric compliment her complexion, and the hood can be drawn forward to shadow her face. She might eventually miss the supple leather of her Endor garb, but Leia doubts it. What she does miss is the warm companionship and ready friendship of the ewoks who helped win the battle against the Empire.

The forest moon is worlds away from the spacious and airy guest suite she now occupies. Furnished in classical style the room is designed to be relaxing and reminiscent of an idyllic meadow vista. A discreet knock on the door disturbs her reflections. "Come in!" she calls, and the door slides aside to reveal a gold-plated droid which enters with a familiar whir of servos and stiff shuffle.

"I am C-3PO, human-cyborg relations," it announces. "Mistress Padmé sent me to ensure that you have found everything to your comfort."

She's startled, not quite believing her ears. Had protocal droids been so scarce in the Rebellion that she's forgotten how alike they are? Even the voice has the same note of prissy servitude. Perhaps Threepio's boasts of having been around the galaxy a few times aren't as far-fetched as she imagined. What a pity the droid had been wiped of its memories in the interim!

"I'm fine. Thank you," she says. "Please convey my gratitude to our hostess."

Padmé's household includes two handmaidens as well as a small security detail and the droid. Luke is out prowling with the guards when the women meet in the dining area. The conversation turns to Leia. Their curiosity is understandable, and Leia retells the story of standing beside her father's funeral pyre before finding herself deep in the Nemoidian hideout.

There is a quick outburst of sympathy from all three of her listeners and Leia feels a guilty flicker—_she's_ not sorry Vader perished, and the way she'd presented the story she ought to be grieving. "I didn't know him well," she says. "He was... he was a navigator on a spice freighter and rarely around."

"Still, your father is part of your history," says Ellé, her brown eyes gentle. "And you honored him even if he did not always act the part."

Leia shrugs. _Honor_ is not the word she would use. "He taught us about getting out of tight spots," she says, offering the statement as a memory of her father. "His methods were...questionable."

"But effective," guesses Padmé. "You say you were held hostage by Nemoidians? Separatists?"

"You haven't heard?" says Leia. Anakin had spoken as if this were the coup that would end the war— would force the Separatists to bend to reason—but the news media is ominously silent about the Jedi and their recent mission. The senator shakes her head, and Leia launches into a recap of the firefight and her first impressions of the Jedi. (She doesn't mention she initially found Anakin charming.) She allows herself a moment of snark. "I'd thought it a momentous occasion."

"It ought to be." Padmé agrees, her eyes hardening as she considers the possible political implications. "No wonder General Kenobi is concerned for your safety. This will be a setback for the Separatist cause."

"That's what everyone says. But until the news breaks—_if_ it breaks—" Leia's suspicions about who suppressed the arrest are deep seated. It's an old, familiar, story. People disappeared under the Empire when their usefulness ran out or when their fortunes were of greater interest than their opinions and if you asked too many questions you would disappear too. "Who is to know, or care, about yet another junior staffer?"

"Perhaps you should ask Knight Skywalker when he arrives tomorrow—"

Leia cuts Padmé short. "He's coming here?"

The other woman nods.

Leia smiles, feeling it stretch thinly across her cheeks. With an entire planet, there ought to have been room enough to avoid the meeting. "Well," she demurs. "Perhaps I will."

She hopes her indignation reads as surprise, though the senator has already revealed herself as anti-coddling and may be sympathetic to Leia's feeling of being smothered in unnecessary surveillance. She will have a few choice words on the subject when they meet and demand honesty and transparency. Do the Jedi trust her and Luke so little? What else could motivate the man to hound her steps?

* * *

In quiet moments, Leia runs through her planned speech, honing her arguments into thrusts of laser precision. She even allows Anakin a few moments of wit on his own behalf. It won't happen as she has pictured it—nothing ever does—but the mental preparation will carry her into the encounter and adrenaline will do the rest.

It's still unsettling when she enters the kitchen the following morning and finds Anakin in the seat she'd occupied the night before. His height and looks catch the eye, and there's a magnetic presence and self-confidence that fills the room and takes her breath away. It's as if the simple act of stepping inside had conferred ownership of the apartment on his golden head. Luke leans back casually against the counter, in no way daunted, and they're sporting matching grins.

"I searched all the racing dens for you, you know," Anakin tells her brother.

"That's a brilliant idea," says Luke. "I wish I'd had it."

Moteé, her face shadowed by her hood, moves around the table to offer the Jedi a frosted glass. Leia slides into the vacated space as if it were a step in an Alderaanian court dance, her own face in shadow. It doesn't seem to fool Anakin. He thanks the handmaiden with a wordless gesture, and bids Leia good morning.

She returns the phrase politely, deliberately focusing on preparing her own breakfast. She wonders why he thinks he can show up so early in the day. Wouldn't it have been just as easy to catch them in the Senate chambers? And why does the conversation have to be so _normal_? Race times and formula and technical jargon—it's the sort of thing she's heard among off-duty pilots and techs in the Rebellion. They'd always sound at least as passionate about the sport as they were about their cause, if not more so. With her back to the room, Leia closes her eyes for a moment and just listens.

She'd like this voice, and this man, so much better, she thinks, if his name didn't happen to be Anakin Skywalker.

Padmé's entrance is the signal to Leia that it's time to move the conversation to business. If she can convince Padmé that the oversight in publicity has more sinister origins, the senator has the resources and connections to open more legal channels and make the whole thing that much harder to sweep under a rug. If she convinces Anakin—but that seems unlikely—she'll see overt action.

"Knight Skywalker," Leia begins. "Perhaps you can enlighten me? I've been told we're vitally important to your case against the Nemoidians, but it seems... minor. Barely worth mentioning. And yet, here you are. Which is true?"

Anakin glances at Padmé. "This is strictly off the record, you understand. You're not seeing anything by the Chancellor's orders. But I can assure you, it's big. It could be the end of the war."

Leia sniffs. "I'd find that easier to believe if it were the only thing I were hearing on every side. There are commercials that are more convincing than that argument."

"You've seen enough politics by this point to know that things don't happen overnight." He grins, but sobers quickly. "I _know_ it's frustrating. People are suffering and that's never easy to accept."

"It is unacceptable under _any_ circumstance. I could be making a difference somewhere and instead I'm sidelined while certain people sit back comfortably and profit from the situation."

Palpatine is manipulating the war, and she can see how it's dragging on longer than necessary because she wasn't sitting in the committees and it's all old news to her even if available history had been scrubbed of many of the incidents. War profiteering is a good angle to attack. With enough traction, it could even bring Palpatine down.

"The Chancellor is a good man," insists Anakin as the argument narrows to just the two of them, leaving Luke, Padmé, and the handmaidens as observers of a contest argued with conviction instead of words.

"Are you sure?" she blazes, and her certainty rocks him back out of his own. But he recovers quickly.

"You haven't met him—pointedly passed up the opportunity, in fact."

"His record speaks louder than his words."

"And what does it say to you? Because eight years of peace after the Naboo Blockade is impressive."

"Peace?" Leia is incredulous. "Only because there was no one allowed to speak out and demand justice! And don't tell me he didn't know. There are ways to flag such notices, and he has aids to sort through the chaff and bring the important items to his attention. The Separatists didn't build to their level of connections and coordination overnight. There were warnings. People knew trouble was brewing—that's why you have a _clone army_ at your back. "

He can't help but notice that she has the same level of vehemence toward the chancellor as she's hinted she holds for him. "And you include me in this somehow? Just me, not Obi-Wan?"

"I hold you culpable for your actions, yes."

"I follow orders," he tells her, irritation evident in his voice and posture. "What do you expect me to do?"

"Question them from time to time!" Leia has a litany of names and places. "Surely you can't say you weren't aware that nothing was accomplished by those costly drains on your resources—surely you've thought to yourself that your talents would be better spent elsewhere—If you spoke up, the Senate would take it under consideration!"

"And I would help tear the Republic apart! Is that what you want?"

She's not sure when he leaps to his feet, gloved fist clenched, but she looks up to meet his eyes. There's fear there, she notes, filing the thought away for future reference. "This war is killing the Republic. The Republic is dying! They're afraid to debate the important issues, afraid of being labeled as Separatist and no longer given the same considerations. If it was still a Republic, this wouldn't have turned into a _publicity_ _stunt,_ Commander."


	8. Chapter 8

[8]

The air in the room crackles with tension. It's almost sparking from Anakin's fingertips—and yet there's a noticeable lack of _impending doom_ as Leia faces him. She's grateful for that confirmation of Luke's trust in the man, but the Jedi is disengaging from the immediate argument, leaving her dizzy on a precipice of consequences of successfully driving him away.

"What is your opinion?" Anakin growls at Luke, who rises to meet the challenge.

"I'm willing to do my civic duty, of course," says Luke, answering as if he'd been asked about the Nemoidian trial. "But I agree with my sister. As pleasant as Coruscant and our accommodations here are, if the system is wasting our time I'll be looking for someone to blame too."

Luke had asked her to work with Anakin, but Leia doesn't want Anakin as an ally. It's difficult to forget the specter of Vader. Leia could fill the _Falcon's _hold with excuses but it all comes down to needing proof before she trusts. Life would have been so much easier if they didn't have to deal with him at all.

"And the first person you see is _me_," says Anakin, his irritation fading as he considers the idea that Leia hadn't so much been attacking _him_ as lashing out in frustration and making him the closest conduit to ground.

Leia breathes easier. It won't mend the rift between them, but it might return them to established footing.

Luke smiles. "You're a Jedi—the expectation is that you can do miracles."

The Jedi shakes his head, his grin making a faint return. "Next time someone mentions 'the glamorous life of a Jedi' to me, I'm going to laugh in their face."

"But the photos! The holo-vid interviews!" says Leia, her eyes wide and innocent. Anakin looks at her, startled, and then begins to laugh and the tension between them is gone—though not forgotten.

* * *

Nightfall on Coruscant comes with a field of neon lights far below the penthouse balcony. They shimmer beneath the traffic patterns like exotic flowers flourishing in a wasteland. The horizon gleams orange and washes out the sky. Above, space traffic and satellites mimic the stars of less developed planets.

Leia leans on the rail. This might be a different quadrant of the city, but some views are the same. This one always made her homesick for Alderaan, and now that longing has been multiplied tenfold. Even something as permanent as a planet can be fragile when balanced against the lust for power and domination.

She'd never been fond of what-ifs. Life didn't come with do-overs. You had to make do with what you had and let regrets inform your future choices. She's been handed an opportunity beyond her wildest dreams, and she'd plunged in to make the most of it. But looking it over, Leia is certain this isn't what she wants.

Luke joins her, and she leans her head on his shoulder. Without him, she'd be adrift on her own resources. He's an anchor, a reason for fighting destiny.

"Do you ever wish you could just... go home?" she asks.

"It's crossed my mind," Luke admits, and she remembers the desolate wasteland of Tatooine. How could anyone miss that? He must catch her skepticism, because he continues. "I think what I really miss is the routine and familiar problems. The vaporator on the east ridge goes out, I know what I have to do to get it running again. Or the speeder overheats. It's... safe. This—"

"—is like heading into an asteroid field to avoid a Star Destroyer. You don't know where you're going to get hit next."

* * *

Leia raises an eyebrow when Anakin darkens the door to the office where she is busy drafting a proposition Padmé will present to the Senate on a comparatively minor dispute. It's been several days since their 'discussion' but she can't imagine he's all that eager to seek her out for a rematch.

"Do you mind?" he asks. Taking her answer for granted, he drops to the comfortable leather chair and rakes a hand through his hair. He used his real hand, she notices—she's finally realized that most of his right arm is a prosthetic, and she's not sure how she feels about that. It's not an injury that slows him down, and she's in no position to comment or question him on how he acquired the false limb.

"I should think you'd be able to find more agreeable company," she says. Luke, for example, would do nicely. The two of them have a common interest, fodder for a congenial conversation. But her brother is elsewhere at the moment.

Anakin laughs. It's short, and there's not much humor there. "Right now, you _are_ the agreeable company."

"I'm sorry," she says, sincerely. It can't be easy for any Jedi to navigate the demands of the Senate, and he's in the public eye more than most. "I won't bother you, then."

There's silence as she weighs the merit of using the more inclusive 'we' as opposed to the more generic 'you' in closing the proposition. From the corner of her eye, she watches Anakin pull out a datapad and settle in. She is beyond baffled by his patience with her. Some of it can be attributed to drawing a civil mask over his feelings—a Jedi presents a serene face to the public—but she'd publicly doubted him. If she'd stood in his boots, she'd have written herself off as a loud-mouthed nuisance. If all he wanted was a comfortable seat and quiet in between meetings, there are plenty of other public spots around the Senate chambers for semi-private recreation.

For that matter, why was he here at all? Did the Jedi draw straws to send a representative down to the Senate every day?

"Two weeks," says Anakin.

She's not sure he's talking to her. But when she looks up to see who and why—it's just them. He meets her eyes, convincing her it wasn't a stray comment.

"For what?"

"That's the estimated timeline until the trial. I know you would have preferred hard fact, but that's the best I could get."

"Thank you." She waits until she can say it and mean it, squashing her lingering doubts as to his sincerity or the veracity of the information. However he acquired it, the gesture shows thoughtfulness her attitude doesn't deserve.

"We live to serve," he comments, a bitter tang twisting his smile awry and dragging the joke flat.

"I'm sorry," says Leia. "I—I've been unfair. You've been very kind."

Anakin accepts her apology with a tired wave of the hand. "That's all right. You've been through a lot. Any ideas yet on what happened after Endor?"

It's as much a mystery to Leia as ever. If Luke has any Jedi insights, he hasn't shared them with her. She shakes her head. "No. Nothing more."

"The Council is interested in speaking to your brother."

"He'd like that."

"But not you?"

"Why would they want to speak to me?" Leia asks. She remembers telling Luke that he has powers she doesn't understand. He'd said they ran in his family—father, son... and daughter. But she doesn't feel any different with that realization. There's no flashes of insight like the ones Luke had as Rouge Leader, no enhanced fighting ability, or power to bend others to her will. She has no desire to become a Jedi, not when she's trained all her life for the political arena, to use words as tools for justice and peace. She's curious about the Council in an abstract sort of way—who were these Jedi who left such an impression on the older members of the Rebellion? But she has no answers for their possible questions.

"Because you might be dangerous," he says frankly. "There are no neutral Force-users."


End file.
